Again

It is Christmas,
again.

I’m getting fat,
again!

Just want to run
and climb, jump
high into the air

But, I can’t, so
I eat.

I eat because eating makes
me feel happy,
something
smiles inside.

Not the painted smile
I put on my face;
but, a deep silky
pleasant smile that
starts growing,
warmly
somewhere in my stomach
then fills my chest
soaking deep into
my heart.

A warmth soothing
the slashes made by the
chards of broken ice
slicing with each beat.

I would like to be thin,
again!

But, it is cold, empty and
my fat caresses me
warmly, always there
never departing,
comforting all through
the evening
and into the night.

I would like to feel alive,
again!

But, I don’t
and so I eat
I eat because
I can feel the flavors
intertwining with my tongue
like lovers
entangled in ecstasy.

I would like to sit
and watch a setting sun
on a warm summers day,
again!

But, it is cold, clouded
and dark;
so I eat,
close my eyes as the
orange glow of pumpkin
pie sinks slowly down
my esophagus resting
in a warm glow
behind my navel.

It is a large
plate of cookies
piled high,
which next I spy
then
when you look again
they are gone.

So ends another Christmas
with settling cookies
and pumpkin pie.

All to the accompaniment of
“Miracle on 34th Street”
playing on the TV
off in the background.

Presaging

I am like a flag unfurled in space,
I scent the oncoming winds and must bend with them,
While the things beneath are not yet stirring,
While the doors close gently and there is silence in the chimneys
And the windows do not yet tremble and the dust is still heavy --
Then I feel the storm and am vibrant like the sea
And expand and withdraw into myself
And thrust myself forth and am alone in the great storm…

- by Maria Rilke

Gum on Your Soul

I got the following quote in an email from a dear friend.

“God determines who walks into your life....
it's up to you to decide who
you let walk away,
who you let stay,
and who you refuse to let go.”

It is a choice each of us makes but, not a easy one.

Of course my mind stared working and had to see another side too, so I was reminded of a quote by Kahlil Gibran

“If you love somebody, let them go,
for if they return, they were always yours.
And if they don't, they never were.”

We can only choose our own actions and can, or should, never stop anyone who truly wants to leave and not be a part of our lives, no matter how much they mean to us and we feel we need them or think they need us.

Where do we draw the line between letting go with love and hanging on till the very end for someone who needs our unconditional love and support? The nagging questions asked; am I making their life better or adding to their crap; who am I to be that self appointed judge on how to better another’s life?

There have been too many times when I have felt myself to be only the unwanted wad of chewing gum, gripping tenaciously, to the sole of someone’s shoe, picked up as they walked carelessly through life. Had they been watching where they were going, most likely, I would have been avoided and given a wide berth and their life, far more pleasant or so I have felt.

Since we so rarely get honest and open communication; the question of “can the right choice ever be made?” is always most certainly no. At some level, I am sure I am just adding to the crap but, then again perhaps, it may also be true, on rare occasions, that I am really making a difference in a good way. Truth is, I never really know.

One thing is certain however, we are all in similar boats, trying to navigate equally treacherous seas, mostly without any compass, stars or shore to guide us; our hands frozen, unable to grip the wheel, even if we could see where to go. Life is experienced as an endless stormy sea bounded by perilous rocks between us and any safe harbor we may dream and hope for.

If you are reading this expecting an answer or conclusion, I have none, just more questions or a long list of verifications that I am a wad of chewing gum. But, that is the nature of the mind and critic who dwells within, pretending to be me or you.

Somewhere, for some fathomless purpose, something created that wad of gum (if that is what we are or I am) and then we were set adrift, apparently discarded. But, that doesn’t mean I have to discard who I am and, I choose not to. If we all be wads of gum, then we will, at some point, all get suck together as one limitless wad of soul gum in universal oneness as the cosmos chews. Then we will be blown into one gigantic bubble; with a new universe coming into existence with another big bang.


Perhaps that is how it all started…

Samurai Song

by Robert Pinsky

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

A Moments Peace

Buzz past an ear
serenity pierced
as if by a spear

It is all so clear
the theft of peace
and all my cheer

One tiny fly
who lights on my nose
all I want is it to die

Angry I became
trying to be calm but,
desired only to kill and to maim

To find my prey
I raised my eyes
and saw not too far away

Dangling in the air
undulating down;
without even a care

Celebratory decorations
from the ceiling flowed
most wonderful of man’s inventions.

Flypaper it is dubbed
hovering, waiting, silently
curly lips to suck the flying grub

Soon it lands and I know
I will be graced with quiet
and again peace will flow.

It tries to escape
from the deadly grip but,
is suck to that sticky tape

Squirm as it may
it will never survive
not again for any other day.

My peace restored
I sit with a smile
contending now with being bored

Not Time

Moments painted on
the canvas of time

Crackle underfoot –
ice sugared grass

Cloud’s moist lips –
mountaintop glistens

Sparkling squeak –
last dish clean

Ice-water sunrise –
scorching desert trek

Glance into an eye –
swallowed by a soul

Blue flash –
bulb’s spirit set free.

All holes in time
drifting endlessly

Hopelessness

When all hope is gone
and the only hope is
a hope of
something
to hope for

When the hope of
hope is finally gone
all false expectations
all fall away and
all that remains is
that which is

It is not what
one wishes it
would or
could be

There is only
what is;
presence in
the moment
and the joy
it contains.

Be thankful
for times of
hopelessness
there-in lies
the key to
knowing
the I that is
the self lost
in distraction
and the wonder
of each breath
we breathe.

Take the key
of hopelessness
and open the
door to the wonder
of who you are
and the ONLY
moment
given to you
to be,

NOW!

A Few Short Poems

Often times it is fun to just have someone pick a random line as seed for a poem. A friend picked this one; "spilling over in rain, a lake" and well, here are a few short poems (perhaps Haiku) that came from it.

Spilling over in rain
a lake lucidly dreaming
raging fire rising

Mist sail rises
spilling over in rain fed flames
a lake takes flight

Spilling over in rain
a lake lustfully dreaming
moist lips caressing

A lake lies burning
spilling over in passion
rain, long lustful kiss

Falling Beauty

by Kim Haley

This time is sacred
It is a blessing

I look out the bay window at the Sierras
Covered in white powder
sweet icing sugar
I want to taste them

A low weep is in me
for this moment
where the flurries of soft snow fly

Quiet
the planet muted
a church
hushed in prayer

I sink to my knees
my heart opens
releasing
freeing
watching
as beauty falls

My universe provides Earth
many expressions
to witness
to feel
to be free of all other concerns
to b in the moment

Snow falls
I am alone
not lonely or weary
not a seeker or weary
just with myself in this holy time
happy to have eyes to see this
falling beauty

Icy cold
white
earth’s face mask
dressing the cedar trees in lace
crisp and swaying
contrasting the green lush brush
bringing awareness

Blue mystery
dancing enchantment in full moonlight

A shy seduction of subtle color
a Prayer of soft still peace
a cool whisper of promise

Wanting and lack are uncovered
I no longer miss the obvious
the available… ever present

The rush of thoughts and distractions
perish
into the quiet
into the beauty of snow falling

Humbled
I accept this falling beauty’s
promise of fresh water and new beginnings

Fragile
feathery ice flowers
dancing butterfly souls

Heart
mind
body
move into this lesson of gratitude
poor wretch opens and learns again to release
into the moment

To fall with faith like snow flakes
into the world
into life
into the flow of change
into… pure joy

Drifting

Sinking

Covering

Disappearing

Uncovering

Freedom

Dancing

Breathing

Falling

With Beauty…

Melting Myst

Surrounded always
ubiquitous walls
landscape alien
language foreign
words insensible
like fingernails – scraping
on black board

Solitarily confined
compressed into Tokyo
rush-hour train
pushed into
nonexistent
lacuna

Helplessly
macerated
essence doomed
destined only
to putrefication

Boundless desert
disguised as
lush
tropical
paradise;
razor blade
winds
blow in
off waves
of desolation

Then the
flawed facade
a tiny crack
a nick –
and the diamond
shatters
to dust
falling away
to the void
below

Only deafness
hears
only blindness
sees
as worlds
meet
melting
the incubus –
like rising
morning mist

Havasupai Waterfall

Take a journey to the magical blue-green waters of the Havasupai Indian Reservation, to the healing music of Darshan Ambient. These have to be some of the most breathtaking waterfalls in the world. There are three different falls in this video: Havasu, Mooney, and Navajo. It's a ten mile hike through canyon valleys to get there, and it's worth every step.

Check out the stunning photo gallery from Havasupai at http://www.dhuting.com (less)

Shards of a Dream

Pondering shards of a dream
still lingering
dripping from
morning dew.

Distant music plays
with rising sun
sleepy eyes
fading into day.

“Awake!”
a voice
silently whispers
somewhere deep within;
pulling me
to a world of gray.

Still persistent image,
[a cedar branch]
floats before
my wistful eye;
green with life
crisp in summer
bright.

Her joyous laughter
running round
an ancient fallen tree.

Just us
free,
transparent together;
a pair of humming—
birds
at play.

Darting through the
forest to the
meadow
where we lay.

Blue Roar

Roar of a fountain
sun setting on a late
autumn day;
children’s voices
playfully
in the distance heard
far away.


Clouds, ripples
and feathers too;
painted across
the azure sky;
cars, a bus and
motorcycles, all came
passing by.

The stone bench
hard and cold;
a sharp contrast to
the moment’s soft lining
which seemed so bold.

Chill floated through,
sunset fires
not yet ablaze,
nor smoke up a flue
of an unlit stove for you.

And I thought this time
it just might be true;
that maybe this night
It wouldn’t be so blue.

Dating Tip for those Mystically Inclined

I was reading an email I got with 17 dating tips for Mystics. I seemed to have always found myself in relationships where I would have been (and am) more compatible and understood by a rock, than the person I was/am in the relationship with.
Perhaps I should patent and sell rock companions for those such as myself. Just look at this list of good traits.

1. Always there
2. Listen without interrupting
3. Never interested in anyone else
4. Never subject to mood changes
5. Will go and do anything with you
6. Never disagrees with you
7. (For the ladies) Always hard



Of the list of 17 dating tips, I read, this one seemed particularly appropriate and true. LOL

“Keep in mind that the more personal
growth work you do on yourself, the fewer
people there will be who are compatible.
The payoff for becoming more self-actualized
can be more enjoyment of being single, and
a more fulfilling and less taxing relationship
when you do meet a compatible person.”

"17 Dating Tips for Mystics" from the Mystic Twins
http://www.howisyourlovelife.com/column.htm

The Guy in the Glass

By - Dale Wimbrow, (c) 1934 -

When you get what you want in your struggle for self,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgment upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the guy in the glass.

The Wave of Love

I Choose Love

Enlightening Thoughts

I allow my spirit to be purified of all pain and grief. I
allow these dark energies to leave me and be transformed to
light.

I am creative. The joy of creation is not in judgment of the
quality of the product, but in the freedom and power of the
act of creation itself. Liking what you have made or finding
that it moves others is simply extra joy like the whip cream
one adds to already perfect strawberries.

~by Wendy H. Chapman
copyright 2007 Metagifted.Org

Smile

Start your week with a riant smile and see if it doesn’t infect the whole rest of the day; and maybe even the week!

Vincent Van Gogh Starry Night

There has always been a part of me that I see in his life and paintings. Perhaps that is why they have always had special meaning.

I think there are many of us who at times, feel the meaninglessness of life; our own powerlessness and helplessness to make a difference, or be understood on even the most rudimentary level. Watching the video “Vincent's Final Moments” [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fNlBn8KRng] I remembered being there in that same space and wonder why the trigger was never pulled. I suspect it was due, to really not being there, with the deep feelings of the fruitlessness of living and not having even the slightest glimmer of hope remaining, which prevented that final pull of the trigger.

Yet, there was also the knowledge that death is not the end. There is no way to truly end it all. It is then when I find myself in those times of darkness that it is even more painful because, I know there is no way to stop the pain, easily and swiftly.

Of course, there is still a nagging thought, that just maybe, I have never gone to the point where my knowing is that covered in darkness (like it was for Vincent) and it is only a matter of time until I carry out a similar final, and perhaps only, act of true freedom I have within my power to do.

Then I think this is like the thoughts I have had of crossing a street, seeing it clear of traffic and then thinking perhaps, it is all an illusion and there really is a large truck coming down the street which I will be stepping in front of as I step off the curb.

Truth is I do know better, it just my obsessive, questioning mind, which questions even its own sanity and existence. Perhaps what it is I have to explore, share and offer is the shared experience of going to that edge, being able to step off into the void and finding there was never a void after all but, instead a path of firm stone upon which I would be stepping onto. Kind of like the act of faith from the Indiana Jones movie, “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”.

I am wondering why I am evening writing this, as I am in a very happy, uplifted mood today. It is certainly not a time for time for dark and gloomy thoughts or writings. Guess it all started when I saw the first video “Starry Night” earlier today in an email I got. It did resonate with me and the darker part of who sometimes feel I am. It also reminded me of the importance of that faith in the universal spirit, who I am and who we are; which should always be remembered no matter how dark, lonely, empty and hopeless; it all seems to be.

Perhaps I just need to put a reminder on my forehead (or trigger finger) to remind me, so I don’t forget.

Calm Within

There is a place of peace and calm within, if we only close our eyes, breath slowly — deeply and listen to silence behind the sounds.

That place is the child bursting with love, within each of us, waiting patently to be born.

Going to Alaska

I am on my way to Alaska
Hitching a ride with
a long-haul trucker

Just me, a pair of sneakers
on my feet, blue jeans
a short sleeved shirt
light jacket, just the clothes
on my back
and nothing more.

Maybe not apropos
for the cold frontier
north-lands
I’m heading for.

But then I was never
ready or proper
for anything
place or thing
I found myself in.

The air through Canada
clear and crisp;
late spring,
flowers just dreaming –
of a bloom.

Gliding across the border
Snow capped mountain peaks
a land vast,
open and
free I see.

He drives to
his destination
I thank him for the ride
and conversation
he did provide;
been a journey to
remember.

I walk from here
till there are
no roads to follow,
towards the edge
of this beautiful
open land.

Finally a trail, a path I find
up through a valley
and along gentle
mountain slopes.

Right up next to a
damned fence
it seemed to go,
all the way
no end in sight.

The path looks well-worn;
there are others
walking too.

I think we are all
looking for
home,
past the edge,
the fence
that holds us in
or keeps us out.

I meet another;
she is as angry as me
Pissed at life
the bull-shit
of not being where
she
belongs.

Wants to be
left
alone;
so do I.
Don’t know why
we even spoke
but soon our conversation
turned us round and
back down the path we
both were on.

I don’t know what
it’s all about but,
I have to go it alone.

The path, I see,
was worn by
those who turned back
not by those who kept
going to the end.

I had to bid her good-by
and find the end
of that fence
that hems me in.

I have to find the door,
the passage that leads
me from this foreign world.

Have to find it before
winter sets in
I am ill prepared to
survive the storms.
I know they will
surely be my end.

Then,
maybe they
are the way
which will finally
set me free
and
home to be.

Note:
I had this dream just before I woke today, the frame upon which this was written. Had to write it down before I left for work, so it is still rough and a work in progress.
Then just as I was leaving, before I shut the door, in the distance I hear distinct sound of a Jake-brake of truck trailer rig off in the distance. A call perhaps, telling me it is time to go.

Alone

Feeling always alone, when
you are with someone –
is better than
being alone.


Then again,
perhaps
it is only a lie
I tell myself.

A Couple of Thoughts

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

~~ Dr. Seuss

"Today I will treat myself softly and gently and lovingly as I
would treat a new baby or a tiny kitten."

~~by Wendy H. Chapman

Collecting

I have been searching for and collecting books on a wide variety of subjects (Physics, religion, occult, metaphysics and philosophy), all in a search for some hidden truth behind all the answers. Many of them I did not read until later, only to find, that at the time I finally read them, it was just the book I needed for that moment.

I have been collecting knowledge and understanding the same way and recently come to see that it is not any of this stuff I can “grasp” or “understand” for which I was seeking but, instead it is the mystery and awe which is beyond the reasons and understandings which is the source. It is the “ah ha” song which is sung from the I am within, which was/is the connection I was searching for. I have found it was always there, just drowned out by the noise of all the distractions I flooded my life and self with.

Perhaps it is in this cycle of learning and unlearning which leads the song or maybe that is just its echo. I don’t really know but then, it is that which I don’t even know, I don’t know which is the open window through which the light shines and the music plays.

The line from Thomas Gray’s poem “ignorance is bliss” has since taken on a much more profound meaning than the cliché it used to be.




Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College
by Thomas Gray

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade,
Ah, fields beloved in vain,
Where once my careless childhood strayed,
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possessed;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly the approach of morn.

Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond today:
Yet see how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, show them where in ambush stand
To seize their prey the murderous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!

These shall the fury Passions tear,
The vultures of the mind
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning Infamy.
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' altered eye,
That mocks the tear if forced to flow;
And keen Remorse with blood defiled,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,
And slow-consuming Age.

To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemned alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain;
The unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.

Vampires - Enigma 'Sadeness'

Nightwish - Sleeping Sun

Butterflies

When it seems that things are not quite right, remember:
We are all butterfies having a Caterpillar experience at various times in our lives and forget the wondrous winged creatures we truly are.

"Swan"

-Grace-

Little swan flew through the Dreamtime, looking for the future. She rested for a moment in the coolness of the pond, looking for a way to find the entry point to the future. This was a moment of confusion for Swan, as she knew she had happened into Dreamtime by accident. This was her first flight alone and she was a bit concerned by the Dreamtime landscape.

As Swan looked high above Sacred Mountain, she saw the biggest swirling black hole she had ever seen. Dragonfly came flying by, and Swan stopped him to ask about the black hole. Dragonfly said, "Swan, that is the doorway to the other planes of imagination. I have been guardian of the illusion for many, many moons. If you want to enter there, you would have to ask permission and earn the right."

Swan was not so sure that she wanted to enter the black hole. She asked Dragonfly what was necessary for her to earn entry. Dragonfly replied, "You must be willing to accept whatever the future holds as it is presented, without trying to change Great Spirit's plan." Swan looked at her ugly little duckling body and then answered, "I will be happy to abide by Great Spirit's plan. I won't fight the currents of the black hole. I will surrender to the flow of the spiral and trust what I am shown." Dragonfly was very happy with Swan's answer and began to spin the magic to break the pond's illusion. Suddenly, Swan was engulfed by a whirlpool in the center of the pond.

Swan reappeared many days later, but now she was graceful and white and long-necked. Dragonfly was stunned! "Swan, what happened to you!" he exclaimed. Swan smiled and said, "Dragonfly, I learned to surrender my body to the power of Great Spirit and was taken to where the future lives. I saw many wonders high on Sacred Mountain and because of my faith and my acceptance I have been changed. I have learned to accept a state of grace." Dragonfly was very happy for Swan.
Swan told Dragonfly many of the wonders beyond the illusion. Through her healing and her acceptance of the state of grace, she was given the right to enter the Dreamtime.

So it is that we learn to surrender to the grace of the rhythm of the universe, and slip from our physical bodies into the Dreamtime. Swan medicine teaches us to be at one with all planes of consciousness, and to trust in the Great Spirit's protection."

from the book:
Medicine Cards
"The Discovery of Power Through The Ways of Animals"
Jamie Sams and David Carson



Grace? Yes that is the gotcha for me.

It seems like no matter how intense the oneness I often feel or the depth of the epiphanies encountered on my quest for truth, I still, so often, feel like an unwanted pimple on God’s/Goddess’s/Divine Spirit’s nose.

Action

. . . justifying of self is blaming someone else.

- Edgar Cayce

"Action may not always bring happiness, but there is no happiness without action."

- Benjamin Disraeli

"Contemplation often makes life miserable. We should act more, think less, and stop watching ourselves live."

- Nicolas de Chamfort

"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."

- Leo Tolstoy

"One ship sails East, And another West, By the self-same winds that blow, Tis the set of the sails And not the gales, That tells the way we go."

- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."

- Helen Keller

"You must do the things you think you cannot do."

- Eleanor Roosevelt



I find it so much easier to think, talk and write about life than live it. It is easier to think about what I "could" have done, beat myself up for what I "should" have done and find reasons why I "can't" do what I want to do.

So today I choose to do what is unreasonable, unthinkable and impossible. It is these things which all reside, hidden from our sight, waiting patiently, for us to step into the moment, reach out and pick them like fresh fruit from a tree.

Free Spirit

I have always been a free spirit.
Even as a young child,
as soon as I could crawl
I was off exploring this new
world, full of strange
alluring wonders.

You loved me
in the beginning
because I was free,
and you were entranced
by my unrestrained
obsession to explore.

When you found
I could not be caged
or chained to convention;
and you could not understand
that my love for you
was reflected all that I loved;
by then, only anger remained,
not love.

What can I say,
you are not
and were never
the center
of the universe;
you are
the universe.

Every star, galaxy
insight and thought;
every wonder
I have ever
beheld,
it has always
been your face
I saw reflected back to me.

You could never
see how much you really
meant to me.
You always underestimated
how deeply you swallowed
my soul and how helpless
I was to escape.

Don’t know

There are things I think I know
then there are things I think
I know I don’t know.

The things I don’t know
I can with study
and diligence
learn to know,
I think.

But the source of all that is possible,
in the most impossible situations
is found in what
I don’t know that I don’t know.

Makes me think that
I really don’t know
what I think I know.

Perhaps all truth and what is,
is the mystery, awe and wonder
which my mind can never grasp.

The mind’s knowing and
knowledge is but,
the assassin of truth;
not truth,
it’s delegate
or exegetist.

Quotes for Friday

"A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a man. Kites rise against, not with the wind."

- John Neal

"A 'No' uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble."

- Mahatma Gandhi

"A lot of people are afraid to say what they want. That's why they don't get what they want."

- Madonna

"Any person capable of angering you becomes your master; he can anger you only when you permit yourself to be disturbed by him."

- Epictetus

"A true friend knows your weaknesses but shows you your strengths; feels your fears but fortifies your faith; sees your anxieties but frees your spirit; recognizes your disabilities but emphasizes your possibilities."

- William Arthur Ward

From "Seeds of Greatness"

By Denis Waitley

You may know me.
I'm your constant companion.
I'm your greatest helper; I'm your heaviest burden
I will push you onward or drag you down to failure.
I am at your command.
Half the tasks you do might as well be turned over to me. I'm able to do them quickly, and I'm able to do them the same every time,
if that's what you want.

I'm easily managed; all you've got to do is be firm with me.
Show me exactly how you want it done; after a few lessons I'll do it automatically.
I am the servant of all great men and women; of course,
I'm the servant of all the failures as well.
I've made all the winners who have ever lived.
And, I've made all the losers too.

But I work with all the precision of a marvelous computer
with the intelligence of a human being.
You may run me for profit, or you may run me to ruin;
it makes no difference to me.

Take me. Be easy with me, and I will destroy you.
Be firm with me, and I'll put the world at your feet.
Who am I?

I'm Habit!

My Creed

Sound of Silence

by Simon And Garfunkel, sung by Gregorians: Masters of Chant.

As I walked
a crowded street
I listened to the
hearts and souls
of those I passed
and heard
their screams
smothered
in silence.

Knowing it was
the very same silence
stifling the lone
self within, trying
to claw its way
out of my own
dark silence.

I wondered
why,
I said
nothing.

Between Moments of Fog

This was so weird. I was listening to a CD I had heard about from the Daily Om Music email called the "Secret Garden" last night. For some reason rather than being experienced as peaceful and relaxing it just brought up all this stuff connected with the things around me, books, radios and memories all connected with the past, so many connections with things. It was like I just wanted to let it all go, just leave everything, memories, all the stuff in my life and even the world. Life and all things I had collected and experienced seemed only a burden bringing a deep sadness and feelings of how hopeless and devoid of meaning it all was.

It was a sad and yet comfortable experience. What transpired next was like waking in between the moments of time into a timeless moment for lack of a better word. Because there was no sense of time; it was like time had simply dissipated like morning fog which covers the beach on a coastal morning. The chill washed away as I was being wrapped in the warmth of sunlight.

What joy to fly in that space amongst and around those time moments. Perhaps that is what it is to be in the moment, to be in that place where what you think and see in your mind as the moment are just things you dance around in the nameless space between them.

Past, Passing Away

The past too heavy
so much stuff
to hold.

Failures like
autumn leaves
covering a once
green meadow.

Everywhere
memories of dreams
which might have been,
scattered leaves
in the winds.

Like trees
once lifting their
foliage to the sun;
now standing
bare, alone
on a cold winter’s
night.

Just a short walk
into the forest
to lie at peace
in the earth;
my soul perhaps
to sprout
again with the
coming of
a brighter
spring day.

Inside a Tick

Chains
melting away
tar like oil
runs down;
no residue
remains.

Darkness
peels away,
opening like
the tulip
in spring.

Sitting silent
in a world
between the
tick-tock
of a clock.

Time stops
as I run
leap and
soar in
this moment
between slices
of time.

Who Is It We Are?

I sometimes remember faintly
the taste of what
it means to be alive.

So what is it to live,
to be alive?
What is it to be human?
What is it we do
with our lives
to give them
meaning?

Is it to die in Auschwitz
bare foot,
in a mid-winter’s blizzard?
Is it to kill in those
very same camps?

How many have given
what is best?
Mother Teresa,
Michelangelo,
Bach,
or Einstein.

How many have taken
what is best?
Joseph Stalin,
Erzebet Bathory,
Heinrich Himmler,
or Tomás de Torquemada.

Who do we think we are;
if after rising from our king sized bed,
and looking into the mirror,
we do not see all those faces
and hear the echoes
of their voices coming back at us?

Who do we think we are;
if we do not see the very worst
and the very best
of humanity within each of us
and with that vision –
choose?

We are, each of us, the salvation
and the damnation of our world,
our species
and our children’s children.

So what is it we choose
this day, this moment,
with each breath we take?
Is it the hang nail
that nags us
or is it something more
magnificent and
far more glorious?

Some Anais Nin quotes

A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.

Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

Quotes on writing:

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.

Truth is something which can't be told in a few words. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.

Eating Fish and Chips

I found myself sitting in an old style drive-in hamburger place. The kind with the covered parking places right out front, like out of a 50’s movie. No one came out to take my order like in the movies though. This place must have been there forever and hadn’t changed a bit, except for the service, of course. So I go inside where it is cool, with air conditioning. It felt so good. Wanted to order a nice big cheese burger but, went healthy instead with the “fish.” Yea, real healthy fish buried in batter and deep fried in lard. LOL

Anyway so here I am eating my “healthy” fish and chips (fish and veggies), when I begin looking across the street. Here right in Fresno, which if you don’t know where that is, well it is in middle of an oven called the San Joaquin Valley in south central California. The drive-in has air conditioning so I’m cool, relaxing, just looking across that baking sheet of a road at the very peaceful place, with grass and trees and some carved stones.

It has this big sign “Mountain View Cemetery” right across the entrance. MOUNTAIN VIEW, it says and there are no mountains anywhere to be seen. This valley is just one big, hot, flat desert and I have no idea where the found the mushrooms to eat before naming that place. I guess it really doesn’t matter anyway because everyone in residence there couldn’t see them anyway. Or maybe they see something the rest of us can’t see.

As I am looking out over all the markers I can’t help but be over come with envy for all those lying beneath. I was aching to share in their nothingness; the quiet, solitude, my mind finally quiet and the pain inside finally gone. Hopeless for them no long matters, it died with them.

Life is just feeling so empty, depressing and meaningless now. This is the usual depressing crap, food is good, I guess, I loved fish and chips but, I am not enjoying eating it. I had just come from a demo put on my the computer group I belong to, it should have really excited me, it didn’t. Everything is just shades of gray, no color, no taste, no fragrance or anything that would be enjoyable.

So I finished my healthy meal and drove over to a park by the zoo, found a quiet bench by a beautiful pond with a fountain in the middle, to read. I Open up the book I am reading “Fight, Flight, Surrender” by Brett McGibbon to next page past my book mark. What is the only poem on the page read.

“Death
in the twilight
walking on a moonlight
night
sounds so right –

I think I might”

Yes, signs again meaning what? It does so reflect what I am feeling, it does sound so right. Perhaps I am the sign painter. Now that concept sucks, I would hope that they are being painted by someone or something more insightful than me.

I know, I really do know, I can choose to continue like this, feeling like this or I can choose to move towards happiness. I do know and understand that, I know all the right stuff to do to get there, even if I don’t feel it but, right now, I simply don’t want to be happy. So everyone who wants to fix me can put that in there pipe and smoke it. I don’t want to feel joy, or sadness, to be up or down, it all just does not really matter to me one way or the other what I feel because in the end, as well as the middle, it doesn’t matter.

If I choose one or the other, create one or the other; it really will not make slightest, fucking difference to anyone, including myself, life in general, the world or that dead leaf blowing across the grass in front of me. Really after I am gone, maybe my kids will remember some bit and grandkids even less but, after them nothing. So I should be happy while I am here to enjoy it. It makes the same sense as going on vacation, after it’s over it is as if it never even happed. Only in this case, there are not even memories.

If there is an after life, what then, well either everything is wonderful or it’s hell. I certainly know I have screwed up most everything I could already so, it ain’t going to be wonderful. The best I can hope for is oblivion; if, instead, it’s reincarnation which happens, then that shit is even worse, just more of the same forever. I haven’t changed or improved one iota in this life, a few thousand more isn’t going make and difference.

So that is all the crap that is running through my head, and bleeding out of the gashes in my chest as I am sitting hear trying to read, what I had considered a wonderfully inspiring and thought provoking book.

So let’s see, where is all this going and where am I, how did I get here and is this the end or am I going to finally make it the end.

It is all coming back to that same place, emptiness and meaninglessness. It is that place which gives birth to new life and possibilities. But, this dieing, this ripping out of everything inside, is so much agony and pain; that real death would be such a blessing. So I guess, I will just sit here by this little pond, watching the water shoot up into the breeze out of the fountain and wait until the dieing is done.

Then I can fully embrace the emptiness and meaninglessness with all my heart and soul or at least what remains of them, when all I know them to be is gone.

Time ticks along...

I’m still sitting here, now looking up at the tree branches of this huge tree behind the concrete bench I am sitting on and just looking at those dead branches up there. Sitting and wondering, if I am one of them, waiting to be cut away and burned or am I the tree just needing to be pruned?

Waiting some more. Oh isn't it just wonderful that time moves.

I am still pondering the question, the answer just isn’t clear quite yet.

Yea, well really it’s that the questions haven’t cleared away quite yet. LOL
They will, they always do. Patience, that's all it takes a little fucking more damn patience!

Water Wheel

It was said:

"Cowards die many times before their deaths,
The valiant never taste of death but once."

--From Julius Caesar (II, ii, 32-37)


I suppose that makes me a coward then. However, I think if that were true, I would take the one final death and be done with it. It would sure be a lot easier.

This cycle of dieing and being recreated or born happens over and over again. Like a bucket of a water wheel for an old mill; rising up, empty to be filled to the brim, then to plunge back down again loosing everything I held inside. It just keeps turning round and round, filling and empting, keeping the grist mill of life rolling.


So when do I get to eat some fresh baked bread from all that grain being ground into flour?

I’m ready now…

voices IN my head

Incessant chatter
echoing inside
my skull.

Commentary
for each and
every thing
I touch
feel
taste
hear
see
think
or do.

Judging
debating
arguing
each and
every crumb.

Their decisions
final
verdicts
and sentences
absolute.

These critics
within,
discerning
keepers of
truth and
light;
ready always
delivering
apropos
swift
adjudications.

Moments of
enlightenment
reduced to
frivolous glimmers
from refuse
strewn
across
my destined
path.

Endless clamor
bellowing
at every
turn.

Resistance futile,
each attempt
met with
stronger
louder
more
hostile
opposition.

Like pulling
an enormous
unbreakable
rubber band.

Only relief
someday
hopefully
found in
that final
last exhale.

The voices
have a
secret
though.

One which
they will
never
tell,
so listen
quietly
for
unspoken
words
never
told.

The secret
you see
is cloaked
in silence;
shared
with the
Chinese
Finger
Trap.

Release
is only
to let go,
to quietly
know.

The voices
are only
the creaks
and growls
from deep
inside
the machine.

So embrace
their
moans
and
thank
their
groans.

For then
at least
for a while
they will
be on
their way
but most
likely back
another day.

Suicide

“The worst pain a man can suffer: to have insight into much and power over nothing”

- Herodotus

“No one ever committed suicide while reading a good book, but many have tried while trying to write one”

- Robert Byrne

“The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

“Suicide is man's way of telling God, "You can't fire me - I quit."

- Bill Maher

“If I had no sense of humor, I would long ago have committed suicide.”

- Mahatma Gandhi

Résumé

By Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Fountains

Sad People

Everyone's part of a predictable
boring play
and it makes me sad
to know that the only sad people
are alive enough
to not get a part

- Bret McGibbon

Those of Us

Those of us gifted enough to know
what everyone knows and want to unite
the hearts of men - make music.

Those of us who walk the world alone
seeing what no one sees,
trying to touch the heart of any man - write.

- Brett McGibbon




So this is why I write...

Two Shades of Discipline

Result of an assignment from last weeks creative writing class. The subject discipline.


Stone Disciplined

Chiseling hard,
immovable stone;
will the mallet,
the implement to impel.

A painter whose brush
paints with space
seizing all as a ruse,
bar the masterpiece recluse.

In the beginning,
in all directions,
stone racing
neither space to move
nor room to sculpt.

A tiny nick here
a chip there
and soon a cleft
a cloven gap
begins to appear.

A small space yields,
as the hammer swings,
striking chisel cold,
crafting the mark.

A clumsy scratch,
first of many
each following some
cryptic metamorphosing plan.

Patterns, like thoughts
fleeing from moments
like sparks from a sparkler;
yet hidden within, a steel core
conducting them all.

The chips become larger
strikes more precise
exposing more of what
begs to be born.

This dark slab of stone,
just this side of done,
when seemly honed
a mountain unveiled.

So summon up the will
and chisel away more
as time runs down hill
into sand beneath your feet.

The piece nearly done
just a few more strikes,
then down comes the curtain
and still darkness of night.

Disciplined and Owned

Chiseled, molded,
as I see fit;
never doubting
who you are;
you are mine,
my re-creation
from who you once
thought your were.

Not a thought,
ever, of
I am too fat,
too thin,
my breasts too
small
or too large.

You are my crowning,
most precious
work of art,
creation and
treasure.

In my eyes,
you are flawless.
I created,
molded,
and shaped you,
to my deepest desires.

Any remaining
thought of lack,
or imperfection;
tossed into the wind
as you gave yourself
so totally
and completely
to me.

Your pleasure entirely mine.
Your orgasms, my dominion,
set free with complete abandon;
relinquishing all thought
of inadequacy.

Pain, my loving discipline,
your exquisite pleasure;
each caressing stroke of my lash,
perfecting the spirit
trapped deep within,
screaming for release.

Obedient, compliant,
submissive,
no more questioning
thoughts
of how
or why,
only an insatiable desire
to serve your master.

Old conflicts,
frustrations,
which once ruled
your being, now
gone from
your mind
body
and soul.

Each breath,
an affirmation
of your craving
to serve,
where destined
at my feet.

Savor Each Moment

When you finally find that moment of peace when everything seems to be running as it should, remember this movie and enjoy the moment.







We were all on a journey of change and growth; those moments of peace are just temporary rest stops.

When fate comes down, what then?

Is it really all over or do you find in its stead a clean slate upon which to compose an even better symphony? You choose, for even when all else is gone, torn to shambles and left as dust, the I who is you, still remains with untold marvelous possibilities yet to unfold. The choice is yours, to be a moist spot in the dust or the seed of a mighty oak or a rose bud ready to unfold.

Thoughts for Wednesday

"It is only when we realize that life is taking us nowhere
that it begins to have meaning."

~P.D. Ospensky

"If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty."

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

"Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave."

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

"The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens."

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

"The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things."

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Tomato not Hole

I watched you grow,
before you,
there was
just a yellow
blossom
kissing the sun.

You came
into my world
a petite
emerald sphere.

Green to life
to me,
to all around.

Space, only
meant for you
to grow into.

Flowing into
the universe
as spring rain
into an empty sea.

Soon big as
a child’s fist.
Green smile
out from you face
and across the sky.

All a garden
to nourish
your soul.

Then,
in some dark
and unknown hour,
he came;
poked
pecked,
piercing
and ripping
a hole
into your
delicate flesh.

A wound
which grew
ever larger as
it devoured
your soft
sensuality.

Then the hellish
demon fled
as quietly and
mysteriously as
he arrived.

All I saw was
a wound,
a gaping chasm
plunging to
your core.

A gash which
never healed;
just painted
over with
scab,
dry and
crusty tan.

What remained
grew, though
torn and violated
as you were,
into more
than a small
green orb
you once
had been.

Green grew
to crimson,
like a
red sunset
on that parched
desert scab.

You floated
in space
suspended
in a web
of life giving
jade.

A fire red
beacon
drawing me
in, as a moth
to a flame.

As day
drew to a close;
I held you,
blushing
as you were.

Plucking you up
from the green
strand from
which you grew.

A kiss,
a bite,
as my lips
met yours
and teeth
sunk deep into
your tender flesh.

That first taste,
sweetest delight,
ripe,
full,
complete
and fresh.

In that moment,
time stood still,
like
a first
kiss stops
the stars.

The universe,
held its breath
and the life
behind it all,
sang with a
voice from
a paradise
from heaven’s
beyond.

Juice
blood red
flowed into
my being,
flushing it
with new life
animating my essence.

An elixir,
Soothing a
thirst
nothing else
could quench.

I floated,
lost in a world
of luscious lascivious
clouds; soaring
amongst towering,
ambrosial peaks.

Only after,
did I understand,
It was the tomato
that was you,
not the hole.

Waiting… (for a sign)

Sitting, waiting
“Where is my muse?”
I ask.
”Come to me.”

Speaking noiselessly
into the otherworld.
“Awen where have you
gone?
Why are you
silent?”

Awaken my voice,
shine your light
into my essence!
So I may see, feel
and become
the words once more.

Then I hear,
somewhere from
deep within;
a growling,
rumbling,
like thunder echoing
in the distance.

I hear the voice
within, as
my stomach
speaks.

A Few Poems by Kabir

Are you looking for me?
I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in stupas, not in Indian shrine rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding around your own neck,
nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you really look for me, you will see me instantly -
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

Kabir says:
Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.

The Guest is inside you, and also inside me;
you know the sprout is hidden inside the seed.
We are all struggling; none of us has gone far.
Let your arrogance go, and look around inside.
The blue sky opens out farther and farther,
the daily sense of failure goes away,
the damage I have done to myself fades,
a million suns come forward with light,
when I sit firmly in that world.
I hear bells ringing that no one has shaken;
inside "love" there is more joy than we know of;
rain pours down, although the sky is clear of clouds;
there are whole rivers of light.
The universe is shot through in all parts by a single sort of love.
How hard it is to feel that joy in all our four bodies!
Those who hope to be reasonable about it fail.
The arrogance of reason has separated us from that love.
With the word "reason" you already feel miles away.
How lucky Kabir is, that surrounded by all this joy
he sings inside his own little boat.
His poems amount to one soul meeting another.
These songs are about forgetting dying and loss.
They rise above both coming in and going out.

Parable of the Cautious Man

There was a very cautious man,
who never laughed or cried.
He never risked, he never lost,
he never won nor tried.
And when he one day passed away,
his insurance was denied,
For since he never really lived,
they claimed he never died.

- Unknown

A Smile

There is a smile hidden
in the "corners"
of a frown somewhere,
you just need to
move them around
a smidgen.

I'm Alive

Believe in Yourself

Wanting To Join

Dumbing Ourselves Down
From http://www.dailyom.com/

The ability to go into any social situation and sense the level of consciousness in that situation is a gift. It enables us to move considerately in a world that holds people of all levels of awareness. However, there is a difference between shifting our energy to accommodate people and dumbing ourselves down to a regrettable degree. Sometimes, when we get into a particular social situation, we may feel pressure to play it small in order to fit in. Perhaps everyone is drinking or smoking excessively, engaging in gossipy small talk, or complaining bitterly about politics. It is one thing to notice this and modify our expectations and another thing entirely to join in.

When we notice where people are coming from and acknowledge to ourselves that their energy is not in alignment with ours, we have several choices as to how to proceed. One viable option is to quietly endure the situation, keeping to ourselves until it is time to leave. In this way, we take care of our own consciousness and protect our growth process. Another option is to interact in a way that honors and pays respect to the people in the group, while gently attempting to shift the level of consciousness with our input. In order to do this, we must maintain our own vibration, which means that joining in by dumbing down is not an option.

When we choose to dumb ourselves down to fit in, we not only sell ourselves short but we also lose a possible opportunity to influence the situation for the good of all concerned. Our desire to join in may come from our natural yearning to feel connected to the people around us. There is no shame in this, but being able to stand on our own, separate from the crowd, is a powerful milestone on any spiritual path. It can be difficult in the moment, but when we arrive on the other side, our integrity intact, we may find ourselves feeling positively smart.

I think I know my modus operandi, and that is to quietly endure the situation, keeping to myself until it is time to leave. I have done that is most all of my social interactions and life in general. All the time hoping and wishing the time to leave would hurry up and get here. Not always, of course, but for the most part, yes I do.

Perhaps it's time to start moving more towards "gently attempting to shift the level of consciousness with our input" mode of operation. The problem I have is the "gently" part. I often act in a more zelotic manner rather than being as understanding and respectful of where others are, as I could be. Then part of that comes from being socially challenged, hopping along on one foot because the other is always in my mouth. An opportunity for grow here too.

So today, I am going to focus on the other option “to interact in a way that honors and pays respect to the people in the group, while gently attempting to shift the level of consciousness” with my input.

Letting Go

Sometimes letting go gets you more than you bargained for. It may turn out that you let go of more than just what you thought it was, you were letting slip away.
I feel like now I have let go of all that remains of life. Letting it slip between my fingers like so much sand and in the act, as the last of a few grains of sand passed through, realizing, they mean no less to me now, than any possible future days I may have ever even dreamed to live.

It is odd how, what should have been a relatively insignificant moment, can obliviate what ever purpose or reason life once held for me; substituting in it’s stead, something far more tenuous and fragile than I could ever have imagined possible for any reasonable being to accept so totally and without question.

It seems I have discovered that within my mind or soul or what ever it is, in some once dark, hidden corner, beat the heart of a madman and fool. A wisp of morning blurriness, which swallowed the world I once thought, was home. And with the coming of another day, when a light shown and the eyes cleared, I asked “where is the world?” There remained nothing to see, to touch, hear or taste. And from whence came this light I saw as my vision cleared, was it from sun or moon; or was this just a flash, a last futile attempt from dieing nerves before a blindness which blotted out all I once saw and cloaked me forever in darkness?

I can not say, my sight, my reason, they all have fled me, leaving behind only an unfathomable void, cold, empty and without substance.

I wonder how I even was able to articulate anything, other than some spasmodic, unintelligible, accidental syllables. Yet, somehow, I did, and with one foot eternally falling through this void and the other firmly planted in serene bliss. Considering the irresoluteness of who I am, to stand also with resoluteness, both simultaneously, is truly astonishing.

But, I am at peace and happiness blooms.

Quotes on the way to a mousepad

I went looking for a new mouse pad for work. Google my all knowing oracle was, as usual, my ever loyal guide in this quest. Firstly I was looking for something inspiring which would start each day, as my mouse made that initial glide across the inspirational surface, with visions of the wonders which lay ahead.

Then next I thought what of those dark days without vision, hope or anything other than all encompassing doom and gloom. Perhaps it could be simplified with a new word “dloom” instead. Of course it just sounds like some fools walk, you know dloom, dloom, dloom… So perhaps instead, I should look for something which would point to a light at the end of the tunnel or a path out of the pit. Maybe a picture or a musical pad which sang as my mouse danced. Alas no musical pads. :(

I eventually settled for a quote.

Here are a few I liked, which I found on the way to the one which, with a few taps of the keyboard, bit by electronic bit. would reduce my bank account from what it was just moments before.

I hope you enjoy them as much as I did in browsing to them.


"Whatever you do will be insignificant,
but it is very important that you do it."

- Mahatma Gandhi


"In the depths of winter, I finally learned that
there was in me an invincible summer."

- Albert Camus


"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound
they make as they fly by."

- Douglas Adams




BTW it was the one by Camus which snatched my $$. LOL

Haiku, July 21 – 24 2007

These are a few Haiku, I had written last weekend and Tuesday. Perhaps for the "purists" they should just be called short poems. What ever they are or could be called, they attempt to capture a moment or some etheric presence which passed through my being.



then became
now, to become someday
waterfall's whisper



sun illuminates
moist morning clinging to leaves
dew bells ring



my heart brushed by
butterfly wings within you
one soul not two



quiet sun plunges
splashing into a red sea
pensive pines listen



a swamp silent
covered with bracken mounds
egret cry pierces



bat shaped breach
in darkened fluttering sky
mosquito silent



weathered granite
searching for door openings
hollow world inside



sitting not there
green goddess unfolds from oak
wind smiles



Morning silent sun
rises over still water
wind kisses softly

Dadaist Haiku

oh sun spool beautiful
ground quietly thread-let soul
energy delicate



muddy wind-rising
stress force slowly tender strength
what primal advance?



open delicate
wasp thoughtful wind wings depart
tension weaving



path wished beautiful
stand apart enchanting world
flow tenderly smooth



ever-searching grace
anchored beautiful wind-rising
butterfly golden

Freedom in Unknowing

"If it is held . . . as a cross, it will remain as one . . . with individuals where there is in their experience crosses to bear, hardships or surroundings that to them are overpowering, overwhelming, by slights, slurs, and fancies of the inactivity of a coordinating force. If these are held continually as crosses, or as things to be overcome, then they will remain as crosses. But if they are to be met with the spirit of truth and right in their own selves, they should create joy; for that is what will be built."

- Edgar Cayce


“Sit down before fact as a little child, be prepared to give up every preconceived notion, follow humbly wherever and to whatever abysses nature leads, or you shall learn nothing”

- Thomas Henry Huxley

“There is such a thing as perfection...and our purpose for living is to find that perfection and show it forth....Each of us is in truth an unlimited idea of freedom. Everything that limits us we have to put aside.”

- Richard Bach

A few thoughts

"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost;
that is where they should be.
Now put foundations under them."

- Henry David Thoreau


"Discouragement tricks you into mentally or emotionally dwelling in the very place you want to leave."

- Guy Finley


"When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us."

-Helen Keller


"All men dream but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes to make it possible."

- T.E. Lawrence


"As for myself, I always willingly acknowledge my own self as the principal cause of every good and of every evil which may befall me; therefore I have always found myself capable of being my own pupil, and ready to love my teacher."

- Giacomo Casanova


"A day dawns, quite like other days; in it, a single hour comes, quite like other hours; but in that day and in that hour the chance of a lifetime faces us."

- Maltbie Babcock


"To unpathed waters, undreamed shores."

- William Shakepeare

Memories of Cold

During the hot summer days, my thoughts often turn to cooler times. Here are couple of poems about some memories of cold.


White room

Bulky Bulwark of a door pulled opened,
memory of Ali Baba shouting, “Open, Sesame!”
Walking into a magical world of iced white;
cold air brushes my face as the spirits
of the this cold microcosm flee to summer.

Rows of coarse screened cabinet doors
filled with beef, pork or venison
all kinds of meat, all shapes and sizes,
wrapped tight with white butcher paper
sitting, as a congregation in prayer.

I breathe in slowly, so the frozen daggers
will not freeze my tongue, throat
and pierce deep into my lungs.
I breathe out, a fog drifts
Gliding away like clouds
lifting up mountain slopes
after a summer’s rain.

A taste of cold
iced air, sublimated frost,
condensing on my tongue
cold moisture running over the edges,
a cool relief from the summer’s heat.

Going to get venison steaks today
soon to be broiled, with mashed potatoes
gravy and
yucky veggies.
The green and orange,
they alone will hold my plate
when I am done.



Cold Steel Mud

Cold day of rain and mud
soldiers riding through grungy streets
swords rising, hacking flesh,
cold steel, flinging blood still warm.

Arm sliced deep
another cuts my face,
then my neck.

Falling to ground,
limp arm,
doesn’t
break the fall

Gasping for air, sucking only mud
shaking, rolling my face to the sky
spitting the muck
just one breath of air, just one.

Horses hoofs,
bones, leg, hip,
cracking, crunching;
only sounds, nothing more.

Mud warming, oozing
flowing, a tepid shiver,
warms my shoulder and neck,
like warm lips kissing my ear;
a pillow to lay my head.

Grotty cold rain flows into sleep;
till I wake, to a stranger, a woman,
wiping the vernix from my face.

The Bee

A
bee
cupped in a
daffodil,
exited
from the
garden, flying
high
in flight over a
juniper tree.
Kumquats too
love the
many
numerous
ornithopter like
petal hoppers
quickly
racing through
stamens inside
taffeta petals.
Umbrage tough and
venose, only the
wight,
xanthochroic
younkers and
zelotic find the prize.



This is an alphabet poem. The rules are only to write the alphabet down the left side of the paper, then each line has to start with that letter. Sometimes you just have to play and have frivolous fun.

Onenotone

I was driving to work the other day and saw this bumper sticker on a car which went by. I thought it was a noble ideal and a vision to strive for but…

Somehow it bothered me and kept crawling around in my mind like so many insignificant brain maggots tend to do from time to time.

Finally I realized what it was that just didn’t make unreasonableness. By unreasonableness, I mean it made sense to my rational mind but the irrational self was pacing around banging on the head trying to get my attention.

So here is what the banging pacer had to say on it and I might add, I do agree.

“Man” has yet to, or ever will, create the “One” religion, government and culture which will encompass all that we are or will become. How can we EVER expect to have “ONE” of anything when we are constantly trying to create a god(dess) which is greater than his/her creator to make it all happen? When will we stop looking for the “One” solution and grok one not one.

Significance

(Implied or unstated) meaning…






When you think of how significant each of our lives is to each of us, personally; as well as the significance of those very special, who have touched each of our lives in a deep and meaningful manner. Doesn’t it make you wonder at all the significance, unknown to us, that exists on our entire world?

And imagine, if you can, by stretching imagination beyond the limit, what magnificent, wondrous significance there is in a universe where our world is only a tiny pale blue dot, seeming lost, in billions of other stars and worlds.

Perhaps in the coldness of space there is more than just a cold emptiness. Perhaps too, there is more significance inside of each of us than we dare to dream.

Song from a String

Floating up through the clouds
A melancholy look down
A tear drops through clouds
A single drop of rain

Stars breathe light
Beaming delight
Nostalgic memories
Smile, geese fly north.

Laughs of troubles
Once towering
humorous now, old
Picture show, black-white.

Seemed a world with
so many shades
Of colors;
But they were only grays;
Colored paints now,
erupt through every crack.

Tickling leaves whispering in the breeze
Melodies whistling through cotton dabbed skies.
Your hair floating through my eyes
While taste drifts over your lips.

Birds, flight painting
Fireworks in the sky
Song kisses my cheek
While grass caresses your
Lithe form in my arms.

Lazy river, leaves floating
Drawn, pulled, drifting
By dawn rising

Winter in Vitebsk

Crunchy cold snow
Chilly Cobble stoned streets
Crackling crusted shingles

Spring leaves grown
Spread their green
Softly fell, now gone

Steel flavored air
Silent sliced arias
Slithering breeze awaits

Sparkling window crystals
Sun glistening clouded
Summer openings closed

Turrets towering towards sky
Tourmaline trees tempted by stars
Twisted twigs turning beside them-selves

Lone man floats silently
Lazily loosing sheaf
Lists, tethered by staff

Long last look
Willingly loam
Loving light, lifting

Visions

By Mary Lee Gowland
From “The Guest of Tyn-y-Coed Cae”

Is there one more unformed vision
within these time worn walls?
It is difficult to distinguish
as of course it always is
the wish from the myth
when our senses are seasoned
by sorcery and wrong decisions.

I wonder if the number of foolish fumbles
decrease as we stumble through the years
or if slumping in our slumbers
brings us closer to the ground
til we slide through life
like so many slippery sounds
on wet cement.

A Tree on a Rock

Quotes from Alice Walker


“No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow.”

I try to teach my heart not to want things it can't have”

“In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they're still beautiful.”




I found these quotes while searching for something else. I now forget what it was I was searching for. Perhaps the search was only a decoy to draw me to what I needed to find today.

There are some days it bothers me that what brings intense joy into moments of my life are so insignificant to the rest of humanity. I was on a hike the other day and saw this tree near the top of a rocky mountain top, which had grown up out of a crack in a rock face. The tree was old, short, knurled and distorted from trying to grow out rock at this high elevation.

It had grown, in spite of all the obstacles and was beautiful; so much a wonder, more so than all the others, I saw that day. If I had not gone so far off the trail and hiked up the mountain, I would never have seen it. I knew then why I feel such a closeness when in the mountains or on the shore.

It seems the trees and nature, in their/her silence, speak more to my soul than those who should be close to me. I think it would have been better to have been a tree than a human. Trees never have to listen to how wrong they are for being a tree, even in the worst of places.

Like that tree, I will never be other than who I am or stop reaching for the stars with each breath, even when everything around me says “you shouldn’t be here.”

A Single Desire

Awakeness is inherent
In all things and all beings
Everywhere
All the time

This awakeness relates to every moment
From innocence
From absolute honesty
From a state where you feel
Absolutely authentic

Only from this state
Do you realize
That you never really wanted
Whatever you thought you wanted.

You realize
That behind all your desires
Was a single desire:
To experience each moment
From your true nature.



- Adyashanti

The Night

A Cosmic Journey

What magnificent wonders exist in the universe?

As we journey through life,
take the time to see them
Touch them,
Listen to them,
Smell them,
Taste and hold them.

With all the majestic marvels that can be seen,
with all our senses;
What greater wonders lie within the heart and soul
which beholds them…?

Happy Pebble

Happiness for me, 
     is sitting on a rock, 
            poking through melting snow.


Just a pebble,
    Basking in untainted light
            Fanned by a mountain breeze


Eyes rolling over clouds below,
    Floating around peaks
            Lost in the distance behind.


Soaring on a mountain top
     While ocean waves            role up, 
                  sand tickling, 
                        between my toes.


Fragrance of the sea
      Melting cares lost        floating,
                  In once swirling thoughts.


That is happiness;
      At once, 
            One with lofty peaks 
                   and 
                        eternal  sea.

Poems and a Quote

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping
slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket
sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

 - W. B. Yeats

Lost in a Forest…

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

 - Pablo Neruda

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all,
there is only the meaning we each give to our life,
an individual meaning, an individual plot,
like an individual novel, a book for each person.

 - Anais Nin